


lemons and lavender

by Jenstar



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, Established Relationship, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, M/M, Pampering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenstar/pseuds/Jenstar
Summary: After a rough call in the morning that catches them off guard at the end of their Burning Rescue shift, Gueira washes Meis's hair to help ease the tension.
Relationships: Gueira & Meis (Promare), Gueira/Meis (Promare)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	lemons and lavender

It’s quiet as they ride back to their apartment, the would-be silence accompanied by the rumbling of Meis’s motorcycle. Gueira nuzzles his face into his shoulder as he grips his waist a little tighter, offering a comforting pressure he knows Meis needs. He takes note of the sun nestled behind a soft flurry of clouds, as if gargantuan stars also decide they could use some rest under a slew of cozy cotton in the middle of the morning.

“It’s been a long while since we rode out during this time of day. The sun feels good on the skin. It’s really nice, don’t cha think?” There’s something tentative that quivers at the tail end of Gueira’s question as he realizes the skin on their faces is still dusted with patches of soot, a gritty reminder of the early morning call they received right before their shift ended. Gueira quietly prays the wind lapping at their cheeks whisks some of it away.

Meis merely hums in response, and Gueira kisses the nape of his neck, earning a small huff of a laugh from Meis. Gueira clings close to him for the rest of the ride home, acknowledging the thick smell of smoke lingering in his hair. Gueira feels his chest constrict and murmurs something about a bath against the shell of Meis’s ear.

He notices how heavy the footfalls of Meis’s steps are while they trek up the stairs; a weighted somberness echoing throughout the hall with every _thud_ that Meis tries to disguise as heavy fatigue. Gueira knows better when he sees the shake of Meis's knees as the tips of his toes barely clear each step, knows better when he watches the slow, languid swing of Meis’s arms littered with bruises as he unlocks the front door, and certainly knows better when the former Mad Burnish General curls onto the couch before taking off his shoes.

Gueira carefully sits next to him, tracing a soothing finger up and down the length of his spine before he takes a lock of his long hair and gently twirls it around his finger, allowing the goosebumps trickling the surface of Meis’s skin a chance to settle. He’s met with an appreciative gaze, but Gueira can’t help the way his smile falters when he watches the unease swirl in a pair of hazy indigo. 

“Hey Meis, why don’t we take a shower or a bath together? We kinda stink.”

His tiny jab of humor earns him another small laugh and soon they both strip out of their Burning Rescue uniforms and wander into the shower.

Their preferred temperature teeters on the edge of scorching, but Meis decidedly turns the handle to lukewarm, and Gueira’s chest tightens even further at Meis’s hesitancy at the concept of heat. 

As Gueira begins to lather the soap in between his hands, Meis simply stands under the showerhead, the pitter patter of water rebounding off the top of his head. Gueira sighs and traces his hands over Meis’s shoulders, noting the tension knotting at the base.

“Come on,” he encourages, “let’s scrub down at least and then we can lounge around in bed all day. We deserve it.” Meis gives him a nod and they takes a few minutes to scrub the aftermath of an unforgiving inferno off their skins. Gueira barely manages to finish washing out his hair before Meis shuts the shower off abruptly.

Gueira gives him a pointed look and his knees almost buckle with guilt at the apologetic sheen glossing over Meis’s stare.

“It was too loud,” he says. Gueira just nods and pulls him out of the shower, trying not to linger on the dejected shake of Meis’s voice that makes the pit of his stomach summersault with nausea.

“Then let’s move to the bath,” he whispers. “We chose this place because you couldn’t resist this sick ass tub.” And it's true. Their apartment was admittedly a little too small for them, but Gueira couldn’t ignore the hopeful curl of Meis’s smile as he stared at the soak tub that was so strikingly out of place in the tiny bathroom when they were scoping out places to live. They were no longer terrorists on the run, they were allowed simple pleasures like small apartments and large soak tubs.

Gueira makes sure to fill the tub with lukewarm water before pulling Meis in after him. He immediately settles against Gueira's chest and closes his eyes. Gueira stays as a still as statue, the thought of disrupting this small shard of peace downright blasphemous. They soak quietly for a few minutes as Gueira silently looks over Meis with a kind of fondness he can only manage with him. He watches small puffs of gray cloud the bath water, swirling out in tendrils from the tips of Meis’s hair. 

“Meis, sit up so I can wash your hair. You still have some dirt in it.”

Meis says nothing, but accepts his offer by slowly rising up in front of him, flipping the excess stands over his shoulder. Gueira reaches over to the sink, grabs the shampoo, and begins to lather suds into Meis's hair. The smell of lavender and lemon curls into the air and soothes the tension in both of their shoulders. Gueira posits even if this wasn’t Meis’s preferred shampoo, he may have some way or another associated the floral scent to him anyway. Something about the soft forefront of the aroma coupled with its biting undertones will always remind Gueira of Meis.

He starts at the scalp, carefully digging his nails in _just so_ and rubs around in circles. Meis lets out a breathy sigh followed by a content hum, and Gueira feels the tightness in his chest relent to make room for the comforting warmth spilling through his rib cage. 

He works his way down the navy slope of Meis’s hair, gently running his fingers through the tangles. Gueira knows he’ll never get over the marvel of the dark blue hues, never get over how the hair threads through his fingers like a web, dark gossamer dotted with iridescent bubbles. Gueira wants to wax poetic about his hair forever, wants to tell Meis that the fibers remind him of faded azurite, wants to tell him the evening sky could never hold a candle to the lush, muffled midnight that sometimes tickles his nose in the morning.

Instead he says, “I’ll never understand how you manage all this hair and keep it so nice.” The compliment hovers right above them before Meis finally breaks his silence.

“Do you think it’ll get easier?”

Gueira tries not to wince at how defeated he sounds, focusing instead on gathering a bundle of Meis’s hair and slowly rubbing it clean. He takes a small whiff of the shampoo before answering.

“I think so. I mean, if the boss’s blue-haired rooster can handle days like these, I’m sure we’ll get used to them eventually.”

“It’s just...hard. I know we kinda asked for this, but I don’t know if I can handle watching someone fall in front of me because of fire. I know we’ve lost our fair share of friends right in front of us, but this is...to be unable to control the flames is…”

“It’s a different sort of helplessness,” Gueria finishes. He rinses out the remainder of the shampoo and reaches for the conditioner. The same floral aroma drapes over them like a weighted blanket, and Gueira runs it through the strands until they feel soft and velveteen in his hands. He massages the base of the scalp again, relief spreading through his veins as he feels Meis finally relax. 

“Yes, exactly,” Meis breathes out. “I guess I’m still not used to watching fire devastate beyond our control.”

“This morning sucked, it really fucking sucked,” Gueira begins as he rinses out the conditioner, “but we saved thirty two people and like a million cats in that apartment building. And it’s not like you didn’t get that man out of the building in time. Older people have weaker lungs. You tried your damn hardest to bring him back, and that’s all anyone can ask for.”

“Hmm, I suppose so,” is all Meis says.

They leave the tub to dry themselves off, donning the coziest pair of pajamas they own. Gueira notices Meis’s movements becoming less sluggish, earning more agency as he wriggles his head through the hole of his shirt. He’s feeling better, but Gueira can’t shake the desire to take care of him.

He sits on the edge of the bed and gestures towards the space in front of him on the floor. “Here, lemme brush your hair.”

“Gueira, you don’t have to do that. I’m alright now.”

“But I want to, just...please?”

Meis gives him an eyeroll, but it's followed by a smile. He grabs his hairbrush and makes himself comfortable between Gueira’s legs, giving him enough room to work through his hair. Gueira takes the brush and gently runs the bristles through his strands, pausing slightly at every knot to slowly work through them.

After he’s sure Meis’s hair is thoroughly detangled, Gueira reaches towards their nightstand to grab a small hair tie. He parts the faded kyanite fibers into three parts and begins to intertwine them together. The small children at the burnish settlement taught him how to braid, and he smiles at the fond memory once he’s tied it all together.

He gives Meis’s shoulders a squeeze. “Okay, all done!”

Meis pulls the braid over his shoulder and flushes pink before he stands up and pulls Gueira to stand with him. He laces his arms around his neck and brings him in for a tight hug. Gueira hugs him back as Meis finds shelter in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you, Gueira. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

“It’s no problem. We’re in this together, forever. We have matching tattoos.”

It's probably the dumbest thing to finish with, but Meis laughs anyway, and the atmosphere fills with mirth and Gueira finds himself incredibly warm and full of love while they settle under the covers.

Gueira turns towards the window of their small bedroom, squints at the afternoon rays filtering in through the blinds, as if the sun decided to wake up from its slumber before they could finally take a nap.

He glances towards Meis, watches his chest slowly surge up and down, relishes in his relaxed state as he watches those long, unfair lashes flutter closed. He wraps an arm around him and nuzzles into his shoulder, dozing off to the faint smell of lavender and lemon.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me about Gueira/Meis on twitter: @jenstarlol


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